


starting the living again

by slashy (slash_y)



Series: starting the living again [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash_y/pseuds/slashy
Summary: “Listen,” Dean says, steeling himself. “I’m not ready to talk about what you said. But, there’s one thing I have to tell you.” He  sets down his coffee and takes the deepest breath he can. He still can’t make himself look at Castiel. “There’s one thing you said that I have to...you said the one thing you want, you can’t ever have.”Another pause. Fuck, he doesn’t understand why this is so hard. Dean’s killed just about every monster kind known to man; he’s punched Hitler and God. He’s been to Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. He’s been to alternate universes, faced off against deities from all over the globe. But he can’t look Castiel in the eyes and tell him...tell him….He thinks, though, that just maybe he can start to show him.“Nobody ever said you can’t have it,” he whispers. And then he takes Castiel’s hand into his own, and holds it.yet another post-series fix-it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: starting the living again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063094
Comments: 67
Kudos: 371





	1. coming out of the dumps

**Author's Note:**

> this arc of the story is complete and will update on Fridays.
> 
> as i am a basic fic writing bitch, title is from the lovely, lovely song "the dumps" by elvis perkins.

Dean’s in bed, in the midst of the deepest sleep he’s felt in years--if not his whole life--when he hears it; the creak of his own mattress as someone sits on the bed and adjusts. The muttered swear at the noise in a voice he’d recognize any day, any time, with any amount of awareness.

Dean shoots up, suddenly wide awake, and turns on the lamp on his nightstand. 

“Cas?”

He’s there, sitting on Dean’s bed in his ugly trench coat, his hair disheveled as it always is, his eyes impossibly blue. And he’s staring at Dean like he did in those final moments before-- _before_. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean is scrambling from under the covers, uncaring that he’s half-naked, that there’s drool drying against his chin, that it doesn’t make sense for Castiel to be here. He’s shifting across the few inches between them so he can pull Castiel into him like a child might bring in its favorite blanket, desperate for the comfort of it. 

“You’re here,” Dean whispers fervently. “You’re _real_.”

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel says back, clinging as tightly to Dean as Dean is clinging to him. “I’m real.”

“I’m not dreaming,” Dean says, tucking his face into Castiel’s neck, feeling the tears welling. Castiel smells faintly of smoke, and Dean wonders if that was always the case and he just never noticed before, or if it’s new. 

“No,” Castiel confirms. “No, I’m here.”

Dean doesn’t want to pull back, but he wants to see Castiel’s face. It’s almost too much, of course. Castiel is looking at him with a love Dean’s afraid to fathom, and what scares him more is that he suspects that same look is echoed in his own features. Still, he makes himself look. Makes himself take it in. 

“How,” he finally asks.

“Jack,” Castiel answers. 

Dean’s eyes close, for the answer should have occurred to him. It was obvious. “That beautiful son of a bitch,” he says with a strangled laugh, wiping at his eyes. “That divine motherfucker.”

Castiel’s own eyes shine in the light. “But Dean,” he says, drawing Dean’s attention.”I can’t stay.”

Dean feels his stomach clench. “What?”

“Jack needs my help--he has plans for Heaven, and I need to be there. It’s not forever, but I’m going to him in the morning.”

Dean’s heart starts beating again. _It’s not forever_. 

“As long as you come back,” says Dean. _To me_ remains unspoken. 

“Always,” Castiel says, and Dean feels his breath hitch. “As soon as I can.”

Dean releases a shaky breath. “But you’re here for the night? I can work with that.” He realizes all at once that he’s not dressed for this, and feels his cheeks heat. He reaches for the nearest shirt, a tee that doesn’t smell too rank, and puts it on. “We should go tell Sammy.”

“No--” Castiel says. “No, I.” He swallows. “Of course, I want Sam to know I’m okay. And I want to see him. But for tonight I just wanted….”

Dean pauses, and then nods. “Okay. Just you and me tonight.”

“Yes,” says Castiel with a palpable relief. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. He can’t get over that Castiel is here, alive, solid. But somewhere beyond the periphery of this understanding is the memory of their last conversation together, and he’s nowhere near ready to revisit it. He knows they’ll have to, but not tonight. Dean considers the idea and immediately feels his heart race. It can’t happen tonight. 

His room is suddenly too small for the both of them. He grabs his robe and steps towards the door. “Okay, I’m going to make a pot of coffee, you just sit tight.” 

“Dean,” Castiel starts, but Dean is out the door before he can say anything else. 

The process of making coffee barely registers. He pulls out the grounds, places the filter, pours the water, presses the button to start. His mind runs through the past ten minutes on a loop: waking, hearing Castiel’s voice, turning on the light, holding Castiel to him. 

_You’re here._

_I’m here._

As the coffee pot slows to a trickle, Dean snaps back to himself and digs out the thermos he and Sam like to take on hunts. He fills it with the finished coffee, and grabs two cups from the drying rack by the sink. He doesn’t know if Castiel will want any, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. 

Castiel is just the same, sitting on Dean’s bed and looking stern. Dean had long since learned that was just Castiel’s resting face, and seeing it now brings a wave of emotion he isn’t ready for. He pushes it all back down with a forceful exhale that catches Castiel’s attention. 

“Dean,” he says, expression softening. 

Dean smiles, feeling awkward. He waves the thermos. “Brought the coffee back with me.” He sits on the bed on the side of Castiel nearer the nightstand and places down the thermos and cups. He opens it, pouring steaming coffee into one of them. “You want some,” he asks Castiel.

“No, thank you, Dean,” Castiel answers. He puts a hand on Dean’s bicep, causing him to stiffen. Castiel sighs at that, but does not move his hand. “We don’t have to talk about my declaration Dean. I know it may have made you uncomfortable. My intention in coming here was just to see you. To talk, if you wanted, before I return to help rebuild Heaven. But I don’t have to stay.”

Dean hears him speak with a growing anxiety. He doesn’t want to talk about Castiel’s _declaration_ , but he also doesn’t want Castiel to leave. “Stop it, Cas,” he says. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, Dean,” he says with a small smile. 

Dean’s eyes train on Castiel’s curved lips, lingering there longer than they should. He clears his throat. “So, I guess Jack told you everything?”

Castiel looks at him, pride evident in his expression. “Yes. I knew you all could do it.” 

They fall silent again. There are too many things they need to talk about, and Dean doesn’t want to discuss any of them. _What will you do now, Dean?_ _What’s next?_ He’s terrified Castiel will ask him, and he couldn’t bear it if he did. He wants it to be enough just to sit in a room with the angel, drinking coffee and sharing the space together. Why should they have to talk at all?

“Jack restored my powers,” Castiel says after a few moments. “My grace is the purest it’s been since, well, _everything_. And I have my wings back.”

Dean can tell by the way Castiel holds himself when he says it, upright and shoulders squared, that he’s the most proud of that. That he can fly again. 

“He’s going to restore every angel still out there. He’s going to reverse the Fall.”

“That’s great, Cas,” Dean says. “Seriously great. So, Jack’s getting the band back together again?”

It takes Castiel a minute to realize what Dean means, his brows furrowing in a beautifully familiar way. When he catches on, he huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes lightly. “No, Dean. He’s just giving everyone their choice back.”

“And you don’t know how long you’ll be gone?” He’s afraid to ask, but he has to know. 

“No,” says Castiel. “Time moves differently in Heaven, but it shouldn’t be too long, I wouldn’t think. I’m going to be a consultant more than anything. Jack has all the ‘mojo,’ as you like to say.”

“Do you know what he wants to do?”

Castiel cocks his head. “He wants to liberate Heaven. He wants to make it a true paradise.”

Dean doesn’t know whatever the fuck that means, but he knows that’s why he’s got Castiel back, so he’s satisfied. He sips at his coffee, looking into the black of his cup to keep himself from getting lost in the blue of Castiel’s eyes. He’s been here so many times before, having to take in a resurrected Castiel after resigning himself to the loss. He tells himself he doesn’t understand why this time feels different, but he knows that’s a lie. The nature of Castiel’s death is particularly complicated, the consequences lasting beyond the fact of his return. 

“Listen,” Dean says, steeling himself. “I’m not ready to talk about what you said. But, there’s one thing I have to tell you.” He sets down his coffee and takes the deepest breath he can. He still can’t make himself look at Castiel. “There’s one thing you said that I have to...you said the one thing you want, you can’t ever have.”

Another pause. _Fuck_ , he doesn’t understand why this is so hard. Dean’s killed just about every monster kind known to man; he’s punched Hitler _and_ God. He’s been to Heaven, Hell, _and_ Purgatory. He’s been to alternate universes, faced off against deities from all over the globe. But he can’t look Castiel in the eyes and tell him...tell him….

He thinks, though, that just maybe he can start to show him. 

“Nobody ever said you can’t have it,” he whispers. And then he takes Castiel’s hand into his own, and holds it. 

Castiel looks down at their entwined fingers momentarily without expression. Then the smile breaks. The corners of his mouth drift upwards, slowly, stopping before Dean can see the whites of his teeth. His happiness is small and intimate. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel whispers back hoarsely. 

Something about the admission--pale as it was in comparison to Castiel’s--releases something in Dean. He’s not even entirely sure what he’s just admitted to, but he knows it was the truth. And having it off his chest, even in so minute a way, relieves a pressure he hadn’t realized was building inside him. The newfound lightness makes him giddy, and he laughs a little as the long-restrained tears finally start to fall. 

“Dean?” Cas asks cautiously.

“I’m good,” Dean says, wiping at his cheeks. “I’m really fucking good.”

Castiel is alive, and Dean’s holding his hand, and that’s the simple truth: He’s really fucking good. 

Speaking feels unnecessary after, and for the rest of the night Dean sits fully on his bed, leaning against his headboard, Castiel tucked beside him. They don’t hold hands the whole time, but the warmth of Castiel beside him is enough to keep Dean feeling buoyed, supported. He falls asleep after a while, despite the coffee, resting against Castiel’s shoulder, and thinking to himself,

_Is it really this easy?_


	2. it's oh so tired (and so am i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Sam’s credit, he calls Dean out. “I can see the pity-party wheels spinning, Dean,” he says gently.
> 
> “It’s not a pity party.” He sounds like a sullen teen.
> 
> “No? You’re not feeling sorry for all the ways you think you’ve ruined Castiel’s life, and that’s why you can never be happy with him?”
> 
> “I’m--no.”

Dean wakes up alone and feels a strange mix of relief and anguish. He settles himself by repeating that Castiel won’t be gone forever. Their story isn’t over. He just has to wait, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing. He wipes at his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and thinks about getting up. He needs to pee, but as soon as he leaves his room for the bathroom, Sam will know he’s up, the pipes being what they are, and he’s not ready for Sam. 

His bladder wins out, and with a groan he pulls himself out of bed. He slips back into his discarded robe and house shoes, and trundles to the bathroom. 

In the kitchen, Sam is chipper. His hair is damp from his post-run shower, and he’s got a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast in the works. 

“Good morning,” he calls out to Dean with a smile. 

“Morning, Sammy,” Dean says. Sam’s joy is infectious, and even with Dean’s full head of thoughts, a semblance of Sam’s good mood begins to make itself known to him. 

Sam looks over his shoulder at Dean, then looks back again sharply. “You good?” 

Dean smiles, sitting at the table. “Yeah, of course. With this spread? How could I not be.”

He can tell Sam’s bullshit detector is pinging, can see the calculating look in Sam’s eye as he decides what to say next. 

“Okay, good,” he lands on. “Then have a cup of coffee, and get ready to eat.” He pours Dean a cup. “I noticed you made a pot last night. Hard time sleeping?”

Dean swallows, taking the cup without meeting Sam’s eyes. He realizes he didn’t wash the pot or toss out the used grounds. He’d been too distracted by the knowledge of Castiel in his bedroom, and once he’d poured the coffee into his thermos, he’d immediately returned to his room. Of course Sam would wonder what the deal was. 

“Yeah. I mean, no. I—.”

Sam turns off the stove. “Want to try that again?”

Dean sighs, eyes trained on the table. “Listen, let’s eat breakfast, and then we’ll talk.” He looks up Sam, finally making eye contact. “There’s some stuff I need to tell you. Not bad,” he adds when he sees Sam's expression. “But not easy either.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous,” Sam mutters. 

“I don’t mean it too. But I’m hungry, and if I start talking now, I’ll never get through breakfast.”

So they eat breakfast. They don’t talk, and Dean feels bad about making Sam worry, but he knows it’ll be all right in the end. He’s not anxious about how Sam’s going to react to the Castiel news, but he knows Sam’s going to be hurt when he finds out what Dean’s been hiding. Not that Castiel came back in the night, but what Castiel told him before he died. 

Because Dean never could bring himself to say anything. Like his time in Hell, the concept of Castiel’s confession—his deal, his feelings, his _death_ —was too much to process with Chuck in the wind, the world wiped out, their found family and friends _all_ gone. So he’d kept the story simple. Death came knocking, and Cas died protecting Dean. After Chuck was handled, it was just easier to keep the secret. Telling Sam wasn’t going to bring Castiel back (no, apparently it was just a matter of Jack). Now he was going to bare it all for Sam, who would be upset he’d not been told in the first place. And even worse, Dean was sure Sam would have questions. 

This is ultimately what has Dean worried. Because he still has no answers. Sam is going to ask him how he feels about Castiel, what he wants to _do_ about Castiel. What he wants in general. And Dean doesn’t know what to say. So he chews his bacon and drinks his coffee and lets Sam stew in anxiety, because this is the last moment he is going to get before he has to start untangling his feelings about Castiel, and he’s going to take advantage of every available second. 

After his last bite of bacon, Dean pushes his plate away with a deep exhale. Sam, who had finished his meal five minutes prior, bounces his knee insistently under the table. 

“Out with it,” he demands once Dean has swallowed his food. 

“Relax, Sammy,” Dean says, holding up his hands. “It’s about Cas.”

Sam freezes. “What about him?”

“He’s alive.”

The statement hangs in the air between them for at least a full ten seconds before Sam lets out a whispered, “ _What?_ ”

“Jack brought him back. He was here last night.”

“Last night! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Dean doesn’t know how to explain the intimacy of the night before. The importance of holding the space between Castiel and Dean alone. “It’s complicated.”

“Then start making it make sense.”

So Dean goes back to two days before. To Castiel and him in the bunker, trapped by Death. He tells Sam about Castiel’s deal. About Castiel thinking he could never have what would make him truly happy. About what he said to Dean.

“He said I _changed him_ , Sammy. That I was the most caring person in the world. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

Sam’s got a smile playing across his lips. He ducks his head and murmurs, “‘ _See, that’s not who I am_.’”

Dean frowns. “What?”

“That’s what you said to Chuck after he called you the ultimate killer. You told him that wasn’t who you were.”

“I did?” Dean doesn’t remember that. Doesn’t remember much about the last few days, if he’s being honest with himself. 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “It stood out to me. And now I get it.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. He clears his throat and continues on. “Well, after he said all that, he said he loved me. And then he said goodbye.” He looks at Sam carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. 

Sam’s smile is gone. “I’m so sorry, Dean. Did you say it back?”

Dean pulls back, startled. “He already knows I love him.”

“Sure, but,” he pauses. Opens and closes his mouth a few times. 

“Spit it out,” Dean orders.

Sam pulls a bitch face. “You know what he meant, Dean. Did you say it back?”

This is what Dean didn’t want to talk about. He edges around what he thinks Sam means and feigns ignorance, conveniently forgetting his own words to Castiel the night before. _Nobody said you couldn’t have it_. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Castiel is in love with you, and he told you. Did you tell him you’re in love with him back?”

The bluntness of it lands against Dean’s chest like a bat. “Jesus, Sam.”

“If you’re going to play dumb about it, I’m going to be direct.”

Dean shakes his head, looking off to the side. “No kidding. You don’t know that’s what he meant.”

“Dean!”

“He’s Cas, man!” His voice raises. 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “This _is_ Cas. He knows love just as fiercely as the rest of us, and the way he feels about you is obviously not brotherly.”

“How do you know?” Dean snaps. “You’re talking like it’s been obvious. Like I missed some huge fucking sign!” He’s angry now. At himself, more than Sam. At the fact he _did_ miss something. Willfully or otherwise. 

Sam inhales and exhales slowly. “Dean,” he says calmly. “You and Cas have had this-- _thing_ \--for eleven years now. He’s dedicated to you. He rebelled during the apocalypse for you, he’s died how many times over for you! He’s given up everything for you. You changed his life, Dean, he said it himself.”

It makes Dean uncomfortable to hear it all laid out like that. “You’re making it sound like something bad.”

Sam laughs. “Dean, I don’t think either one of us would know what a healthy relationship looks like if it crawled into bed with us. And I’m sorry if I was presumptuous about your end of things. But as for Cas’ feelings, yeah. I think he’s been pretty obvious about how much you mean to him.”

“Well, I guess you saw something I didn’t, because he took me by pretty big surprise.”

A sigh. “So then what happened last night?”

Dean appreciates the effort to move forward, though he knows Sam will make him come back to this later. “He just showed up in my room. Looking...looking like he always does. And I said I’d go get you, but he just wanted some time for us, because he knew he couldn’t stay.”

“Did you talk about all this? And what does that mean, he ‘couldn’t stay’?”

The questions are reasonable but setting Dean on edge. He counts to five before he speaks again. “No, we didn’t talk about any feelings. It was a little much to have him suddenly resurrected in the first place.” Sam raises his hands--point to Dean, he’ll back off--and then gestures for Dean to continue. “We just sat together.” he studiously does not mention holding Castiel’s hands for hours. “As for not being able to stay, he told me Jack brought him back, gave him back his wings and charged up his grace, because he wants Cas’ help to rebuild Heaven. ‘Liberate’ it, Cas said, whatever that means.”

“Sounds like a big job,” says Sam. “I’m glad Cas is getting a chance to help do it.”

Dean hadn’t thought that far into it, but he supposes he agrees. “I think he feels a lot of guilt about what happened to Heaven. Maybe this will help him ease some of that up.”

“Yeah, we all have guilt we need to deal with.” Sam gives Dean a pointed look. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Anyway, that’s the deal with Cas.”

“That’s a pretty big deal, Dean. Did he say when he’s coming back?”

“I know, and no. He’s not sure how long it’ll take to help Jack.”

“So,” starts Sam, and Dean braces himself. “What are you going to do now? How do you feel about him?”

Dean let’s his head rest on the table while he inhales and exhales deeply. “I don’t know,” he mumbles against the table. 

“Are you in love with Cas?”

“I don’t know.”

“O-kay,” Sam drawls. “Do you want to be intimate with Cas?”

His cheeks are growing warmer by the minute. “I don’t even know if _he_ wants to, you know. Be with me that way.”

“Maybe this is something you should talk to him about then.”

Dean groans. “So embarrassing, Sam.”

“Dean,” Sam scoffs.

He sits up. “Seriously, Sammy. I don’t know for sure what he even meant when he said he loved me. He’s said that before and it hasn’t meant anything like that.”

Sam considers this. “Okay,” he says. “So then we have to take Cas’ feelings out of it and come back to how _you_ feel about him. You never answered my question.”

“I did too. I. Don’t. Know.” Dean bites out. 

“Do you want to kiss him then?”

“Ugh. Shut up.”

“I’m serious, Dean! You know you love him. He’s family. So you have to think about the rest of it. He’s already your best friend, so do you feel there’s anything else missing?”

“Isn’t being my best friend enough?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want, then that’s _more_ than enough. But I don’t think you’re spiraling because Castiel is making you think about how much you love him as a _friend_.”

Sam’s right, and he hates it. Dean doesn’t want to be thinking about this at all. He just wants everything to stay the same, to stay comfortable. They’re all back, they’re all safe, and he wants all of them to be happy. He doesn’t want to be working through a midlife relationship crisis after finally getting his life back. 

“I’m going to ask you something you’re not going to like,” Sam says.

“Shocker,” Dean mutters.

“Is this about the fact that Cas’ vessel is a man, or is this about the fact that it’s Cas at all?”

Dean’s breath hitches. Trust Sammy to shoot this straight about the fact Dean already knows he’s not. 

He sighs, defeated. “It’s not about the fact that his vessel is a man’s. I don’t even know if he sees himself that way.”

“True,” agrees Sam. “A penis does not a man make.”

So Dean finally says it. “He’s a fucking angel, Sammy. I don’t even know how they feel shit like that. If they can. And I know he’s not some fresh young cherub, but he still sees and experiences things in a way I can never understand. And if I can’t ever understand his perspective as an angel, how can he ever understand mine?” 

Speaking to the real fear is both a relief and a terror. Dean is so afraid of building something with Castiel that is foundationally unsound, and he can’t see a way around this inarguable fact, that he’d rather pretend there was nothing to build in the first place. They are literally different species. Angels weren’t even _built_ for love, but obedience. Castiel wasn’t made to comprehend what Dean feels for him, and in telling Dean those three words in so profound a way, Dean can’t be sure of the intent behind them. How can a being made of God’s pure grace deign to love something so small and corrupted as Dean Winchester?

And even worse, what if what Castiel feels for Dean isn’t love at all, _but_ obedience? He thinks of Sam listing off all the ways Castiel’s life got harder as he aligned himself with Dean and feels his chest tighten. He doesn’t want to make Castiel’s life worse any more. 

To Sam’s credit, he calls Dean out. “I can see the pity-party wheels spinning, Dean,” he says gently.

“It’s not a pity party.” He sounds like a sullen teen.

“No? You’re not feeling sorry for all the ways you think you’ve ruined Castiel’s life, and that’s why you can never be happy with him?”

“I’m-- _no_.”

“You’re right: Cas isn’t human. You’re right that his capacity for love is something we may never understand or experience. But what’s your definition of love here, Dean? Romantically. Like what I feel for Eileen. What are the requirements?”

Dean swallows. Sam’s never said outright he’s in love with Eileen, but he feels that comes pretty close. “I guess,” he says slowly. “For me, being in love is….” 

The problem, of course, is that Dean’s never been in love. He came close with Cassie, but _god_ , was he young. They’d hardly known each other, but she was the first girl to make him long for something more. And Lisa, well. Lisa had been a symbol of what Dean longed for more than the thing itself. And it had ended so badly he couldn’t bear to think back on it now. No, Dean’s never come closer to being what he thinks of as “in love” as he comes with Castiel. 

He tries again. “For me, it’s wanting to be around that person all the time.” He can’t believe he’s saying this shit to Sam. “It’s wanting to protect them. It’s wanting to watch them grow, you know? Watching them have success. _Wanting_ them to have success. It’s wanting to hold them, and k-kiss them. Be, you know, like you said. Be intimate with them.” He can barely say it because he already knows as surely as anything that Sam knows he’s talking about Castiel.

He’s made Sam listen ad nauseum to his stories of banging hot chicks in the impala, or getting head behind some shitty old bar. His porn preferences are hardly a secret, and he knows for a fact they’ve heard each other jack off in the shower more times than either would like to admit. This isn’t about Sam knowing Dean likes sex. It’s about Sam knowing Dean wants to have sex with Castiel. It’s about Dean admitting to himself that’s what he wants at all. 

Sam’s got a small smile on his lips as he says quietly, “Dean, it sounds like you _do_ know exactly how you feel about Castiel.”

Dean can only nod. 

“I think I’m in love with Castiel.”

Sam snorts. “You think?”

Dean tries again. “I’m in love with him.”

“There it is,” Sam says proudly. “Honestly, I feel like that was the hard part.”

“Oh my _god_.” Dean mumbles, collapsing back onto the table. 

“Should that be ‘oh my Jack’ now?”

“Sammy, please stop talking.”

“Fine.” He nudges Dean under the table with his foot. “But seriously. Now you’ve got that out of the way, you just have to tell Cas and go from there.”

“Oh, is that it?”

Sam stands from the table and collects their dishes. “Yep. Also, I meant to tell you that Eileen’s coming down today.”

Dean raises his head. “Yeah?” The thought genuinely cheers him. So does the way Sam beams as he starts clearing away the breakfast mess. “So you’re in love with her, right?” Might as well make Sam say it while they’re into confessing things. 

Sam is wholly unaffected by the question. He grins at Dean. “Fuck yeah, I am.”

They stay in a silence that’s largely companionable. Sam cleans up without harassing Dean for staying on his ass the whole time, and Dean tries to keep his tenuous grip on his sanity. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing Cas is going to be gone for a while,” Sam says after ten minutes of quiet.

Dean looks over at him. “You think?”

“Yeah. Gives you some time to get used to all of it. There’s so much to process right now. Might be kind of nice not to process your feelings about Castiel _with_ Castiel right there, you know?”

Dean frowns. “Maybe.” He really just wants Castiel here with him. He also wants to be done with this conversation. “You want me to make myself scarce when Eileen shows up?”

Finally, Sam flushes. “No, of course not. She’s your friend, too.” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Maybe just...clear out after dinner.”

Dean winks. “You got it, Tiger.”

“ _Dean_.” The bitch face is back.

Dean loves to see it.


	3. sleep under separate stars

As is often the case, Sam is right about Dean having some time to process without Castiel. While he often daydreams about how nice it’ll be to have Castiel, he knows he’s thinking more abstractly about it. About the benefit of knowing Castiel is safe, that he’s around. He wants to take Castiel on a drive, maybe fishing like he took Jack. Drinking beer under the sun. He supposes it’s not the most romantic daydream, but he struggles to imagine Castiel in any other way. He watches Sam and Eileen and tries to see himself and Castiel like them. He can never quite manage it. 

Having Eileen around, however, is a sweet deal. She’s way too cool for Sam and knows it, but somehow she doesn’t seem to mind. She lets Dean practice his sign language, which he’s taken to learning in his newly-freed time, and only laughs at him a little when he fucks up, which is often. Sometimes she helps him in the kitchen, the pair of them moving around each other easily while Sam teaches Dean the signs for the food he’s prepping. They watch movies in Sam’s room ( _“Our room,”_ he called it once, and Dean didn’t have the heart to tease him for it) with Sam and Eileen cuddled up on the bed and Dean in an extra chair.

And all the while he wonders, how would this dynamic change if Castiel were here? Would Castiel help Dean in the kitchen preparing food he won’t eat? Would he sit with Dean on his bed--like that first night--only this time with the same ease and comfort that Eileen sits on Sam’s? He watches them together, Eileen’s head on Sam’s chest, their fingers twined, and tries to imagine himself and Castiel in the same position. He finds he can’t quite see it. He can hardly imagine Castiel out of his trench coat and sensible shoes, let alone lounging alongside Dean in a soft tee-shirt and comfortable pants. 

So yes, Sam was right. Dean can’t imagine trying to see himself intimate with Castiel, sharing a life together as partners, with Castiel actually in front of him. He needs the distance to consider the possibilities safely. Even if the answers he keeps landing on are less than satisfying. Still, with so much time on his hands, Dean doesn’t have much else to do but ponder. He thinks back to how it had felt to hold Castiel’s hand. That had been easy enough, almost natural. Castiel’s hand had been warm in his own, his body a comforting weight beside him. But Castiel had never really relaxed. When Dean thinks of the comfort Castiel provides, he thinks of a tree: solid, imposing, powerful, beautiful. But inflexible, and rigid. He realizes with an unpleasant shock he can’t imagine Castiel at ease with him. 

And he has no idea what Castiel imagines about Dean, if he imagines anything. 

After a week of running in mental circles about it all, Dean takes it all back and decides Sam is full of shit. He needs Castiel here so they can just figure this damn thing out, and until Castiel shows up, Dean decides to shelve all his concerns about the angel as best he can. Instead, he starts to look for a hunt. 

He goes to all the usual sites, checks his regular feeds. He even makes calls to some of the other hunters scattered across the country to see if they’ve got any leads themselves, all to no avail. Dean spends three full days scouring the news for something supernatural, and can’t find a single thing. Finally, he finds Sam. 

His younger brother’s at one of the central tables, clicking on his laptop. He closes it quickly when he spies Dean heading towards him. 

“Hey, Dean,” he says lightly. 

“Sammy,” Dean replies in a tone that lets Sam know he caught how fast Sam shut his computer. He waggles his eyebrows. “Looking at porn?” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Need something, Dean?”

He pulls the chair out opposite Sam. “More like I have a confession to make.”

“What’d you do now?”

Dean offers a half-hearted glare. “I was going a little stir-crazy--this laid back lifestyle has its perks, don’t get me wrong, but a man just needs a little action sometimes--so I started looking for a job.”

He pauses to give Sam a moment to yell at him. The moment doesn’t come, so Dean continues. 

“I started looking, and I _kept_ looking. And it’s been three days, I’ve talked to a dozen hunters, and absolutely no one has any damn leads.”

Sam sits up straighter. “Okay, I have a confession too. I’ve been looking for work, myself. And honestly? I think Eileen’s tried too. And we’re all coming up empty.”

They take a moment to chuckle at each other. Bad habits die hard. Even after defeating God himself, they can’t sit still for more than a week. 

“So, what does _that_ mean?” Dean finally asks. 

Before Sam can answer, they’re interrupted by the sound of the bunker door opening. They look up in tandem, and immediately Dean feels his breath catch. Castiel closes the heavy door behind him and begins the descent downstairs. 

Dean forgets every other thought in his head as he watches Castiel draw nearer. He thinks Sam might be staring at him, curious what he’s going to do. Shit, Dean’s curious too. As it stands, the only action he holds within his power to take is stillness. 

Castiel pauses a few feet in front of their table, a smile on his face. “Hello, Sam. Dean.”

His voice is one of the sweeter reliefs of Dean’s life. 

“Hey, Cas,” says Sam as he stands. He looms over Castiel before dragging the angel in for a tight hug. “I’m so damn glad you’re here.”

Castiel hugs him tightly back. “As am I.”

When Sam steps back, Dean figures it’s his turn to come forward. He takes a halting step towards Castiel, who decides to bridge the gap himself and bring Dean in for an embrace. As soon as they make contact, Dean wonders why he was so nervous. He’s held Castiel a dozen times, this isn’t new. Castiel is hard beneath him, that smell of smoke still there, tickling Dean’s nose. He buries his face in Castiel’s shoulder before he can stop himself. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles into the fabric of his trench coat. 

“I missed you, too,” Castiel replies. He leans back, but doesn’t let go of Dean. “And now my job in Heaven is done.”

If Castiel were anyone else, Dean knows this is the moment he’d kiss him. He’d put his hands on either side of his face and draw him in slowly, and now that Castiel is here and solid before him, the idea doesn’t seem so ludicrous. But then Dean remembers Sam, and all the other anxieties he’s been nursing in Castiel’s absence, and he makes himself let go and step back. 

Castiel’s smile doesn’t falter. He doesn’t seem to take offense, and Dean loves him all the more for it. 

“So, are you here to stay, Cas?” Sam asks. Dean could hug his moose of a brother for asking, as it’s the question he’s most burning to know, but had been too afraid to ask. 

“If you’ll have me,” Castiel answers. “For my part, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”

“Works for us, right Dean?”

They both look at him, and Dean starts out of his reverie. “Absolutely. Cas, you know this is your home.” _With us_. 

Castiel gestures back at the table. “Then please, sit. Tell me what you’ve been up to while I’ve been gone.”

Sam and Dean return to their seats, and Castiel takes the chair beside Dean. Under the table, his leg rests against Dean’s, inviting and non-threatening. 

“A whole lot of nothing,” says Sam. “Just enjoying a little time for ourselves.”

“Which, of course, you’ve both earned in spades,” says Castiel. 

“Yeah, but you know us,” Dean says, shooting a look at Sam. “The easy life can only hold our interest for so long. We started looking for something to hunt.”

“Dean,” Castiel admonishes fondly. “There is no shame or weakness in taking time off.”

“I know, Cas, I know.” He knocks their knees together under the table. “It’s just I was getting a little bored.”

“Of course,” Castiel grumbles, that same fondness warming the words.

“But that turned up something interesting. We can’t find anything,” says Sam. 

Castiel nods. “I should think you wouldn’t. Jack got rid of all the monsters.”

“What?” Sam and Dean shout in unison. 

Castiel cocks his head. “He turned any creatures he could back into their original human forms and banished the rest to Purgatory. He’s even considering banishing Purgatory, but he’s not sure if that’s him inserting himself too much.”

Dean's chest tightens, his breath coming out in shallow puffs. No more monsters? No more hunting? 

“Holy shit, Cas,” Sam whispers. “I need to find Eileen.” He stands from the table and jogs off down the hall towards his room. 

“Dean?” Castiel questions. “Are you all right?”

He swallows, and looks at Cas without seeing him clearly. He forces himself to focus on the angel, to steady and deepen his breathing. “I--yeah," he finally says. "Just taking in the news. I can’t imagine a world without monsters.”

“I think Jack thought of it as a parting gift for you and your brother.”

That sounds like Jack. “You mean, in addition to bringing you back?”

Castiel chuckles. “Well, yes. But you don’t seem to be taking the news as a pleasant surprise.”

“I guess I never imagined I would have a life without hunting in it. I’m not sure what to think.”

Castiel considers this. “Maybe think of it as being given a chance to decide what else could be done with your life. The burden of saving people, hunting things, has lifted.”

Dean runs his hands through his hair.

Before he has any more time to panic, he hears a shriek from Sam’s bedroom: Eileen reacting to what--for her and Sam--is undoubtedly good news. They’re both back at the bunker’s center moments later, arms around each other and big, dopey grins on their faces. 

“We had a lot to celebrate before,” says Eileen. “But we have even _more_ now.”

Sam checks the time. “I say we get some booze and some food and we celebrate. Sound good?”

“Yes!” agrees Eileen. 

“It’s a plan,” says Castiel, and Dean has to smile, since Castiel neither eats nor drinks. Maybe he can convince the angel to try whiskey again.

Still, Dean feels less buoyant than the others. In fact, he feels completely lost. A life without hunting? He can’t wrap his head around it, and he’s certainly not ready to jump for joy over it. But what he can do is give Sam and Eileen the space to feel however gleeful they want without him being a wet blanket. 

“I’ll go grab us drinks and dinner then,” he says, plastering on a false smile. “We good with Chinese?”

Another emphatic yes from Eileen, echoed by Sam. 

“I could go with you,” offers Castiel, and while Dean hates to turn him down, he needs a moment alone. 

“No, no, you stay. Make merry, be happy.” The smile he offers Castiel is a bit more sincere. “I’ll be back soon.”

Castiel looks at him like he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking, but he lets Dean go without another word, and Dean can feel his gaze at his back all the way up the stairs and out the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've commented or subscribed, just know you've made my day, many days over. I hope y'all enjoyed the update!


	4. the heavens are smiling upon us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I totally forgot to include miracle. instead of rewriting everything, I'm going to assume miracle was reunited with his loving family and im going to gift dean a different dog in the next fic. besides, I refuse to believe dean would actually name a dog miracle....but I also really want dean to have a dog lol. so anyway....eyes open for that in the next fic.

In the car, Dean drives with the windows down and the stereo off, letting the cool autumn air be his only companion. He tries to get to the bottom of his reaction, to understand why he’s missing the same happiness factor that Eileen and Sam had looped into immediately. He tries to ask himself, _Why do you want to keep hunting?_ He knows that’s the question Sam’s going to ask him later when he’s caught on to Dean’s mood. He knows it’s what Cas is going to ask him, too. Everyone and their damn questions. 

Though it’s a thing he’s done for over thirty years, Dean’s really never thought that much about hunting intellectually. It was the job, it was his responsibility, it was the family business. And when bigger threats grabbed hold of his life, hunting was a solace for its straightforward familiarity. Dean still can’t fully accept there aren’t any more “bigger threats” coming his way with Chuck out of the picture, and now he’s being told the only routine his life has ever known beyond those threats is out the window, too. He knows, objectively, this isn’t a bad thing, but the unknown of what’s left when hunting is taken off the board scares him far more than any vampires skulking in the dark of anonymous country barns ever did. 

Between the return of Castiel and this particular revelation along with him, all Dean wants to do is get drunk. He parks outside the convenience store--being sure to stay well away from the hydrant--and calls in at the Chinese place down the road. He gets their orders put in and then steps out of Baby to start picking up drinks. 

He gets more limes and tequila for Sam and Eileen’s favorite margaritas. He gets a handle of the cheapest, strongest whiskey he can find for Castiel. Then a bottle of Jim Beam for himself and a 12-pack of PBR for the group because Dean’s not here to impress anyone. The cashier stares at him like he’s a dead man walking, and Dean lets him. He can’t exactly say “We’re a party of four, and one of us is an angel who could drink all this in five minutes and still feel only a little buzzed.”

The food’s not quite ready when he goes to get it, so Dean has to sit on one of the rickety benches inside the entryway and wait. More time to think about the mess he’s in. It’s not the worst kind of mess, at least. He tells himself to chill out; he doesn’t have to have the answers to all his problems figured out tonight. All he has to do is eat dinner, get drunk, and try not to word vomit (or real vomit) all his feelings on Castiel until he’s sober. 

When the food is done, Dean carts it all back to the car and heads home to the bunker. He’s feeling better by the time he gets there, still not happy about the news, but a little less wounded by it. He parks Baby in the garage and shoots a text to Sam for some extra hands in bringing everything in. Only, when the door to the garage opens, it isn’t Sam who’s there to help, but Castiel. 

He approaches Dean slowly, like he’s unsure of how Dean’s going to react. 

“Hey, Cas,” he says. “If you wanna grab the booze, I’ll grab the food.”

“Sure,” Castiel agrees. 

He walks past Dean to get to the backseat where Dean’s bounty of alcohol lies in wait, and Dean feels the slide of Castiel’s body along his own with a shiver. 

“Did you buy the whole liquor store?” Castiel asks. 

“The way the guy who rang me up was looking at me, you’d think I did.”

“I suppose we’re in for a fun night.” Castiel sounds dubious.

“You bet your ass,” says Dean. “That big bottle’s for you.”

He can hear Castiel’s huff. 

They carry everything inside, making it in one trip. Eileen and Sam cheer at the sight of the food and beverages, and everything is sat out on the kitchen dining table. Dean grabs a can of beer for each of them while Sam starts setting out plates and Eileen opens up the steaming containers. The amount of food weighing down the table seems unnecessary, but Dean knows in a matter of an hour the damage will be done. Cas stands off to the side, a little awkward with no job to do, until Dean gestures for him to sit down. He takes a seat, too, Castiel beside him though he won’t be partaking, and starts loading up a plate. 

“What are you eating, Dean,” says Cas quietly, almost shyly. 

Dean points out what’s on his plate with chopsticks. “Garlic chicken, lemon chicken, chow mein, and a pork bun to start.” He looks at Castiel’s curious expression. “Do you want to try it?”

At first, Castiel doesn’t respond. Then he nods. 

Dean hands him a fork. “Take what you want.”

On a plate of his own, Castiel places small forkfuls of everything except the bun. 

“Bon appetit,” says Dean, knocking his chopsticks against Castiel’s fork. 

“A toast,” says Sam. “To the future.”

Everyone raises their can. “To the future!”

The words make Dean’s stomach flutter with anxiety. He’s not so sure about this future Sam’s excited about. But as he says it, Dean feels Castiel’s hand taking his own and squeezing, reassuring. He squeezes back before taking a sip of his beer (almost as reassuring as the squeeze), their hands releasing. 

“Ugh,” groans Eileen. “Really, Dean?”

Dean exaggerates his offense. “Listen, it was good enough for us when we were kids, and it’s good enough or us now!” He clumsily signs as many of the words as he can, which is mostly “good” and “us”.

Castiel is, it should be no surprise, fluent in American Sign Language. Between small bites of the food off Dean’s plate, he holds entire conversations with Eileen that Sam and Dean can’t keep up with. This leaves Sam and Dean to try to out-drink each other as they shovel food into their mouths and tell some of the worst jokes they can remember. Dean’s always been a connoisseur of the kind of epically bad puns found on popsicle sticks and taffy wrappers, and he recites as many as he can between drinks and bites. It’s good and it’s easy, and it’s the most fun he’s had in years. He shoots fond glances at Castiel, who hasn’t stopped sneaking pieces of lemon chicken off of Dean’s plate--apparently this doesn’t taste overwhelmingly of molecules--and takes a shot with Eileen after she finds the tequila and limes. He can’t remember why he spent any part of today unhappy. 

After dinner, which Castiel packs up and clears away the remaining food so Sam and Eileen can get started on margaritas and Dean can start loading the dishwasher, there are a few more rounds of drinks around the table, and a few more old-times-sake stories shared. But Sam and Eileen bow out before things get too maudlin, and Dean watches them go completely at ease. 

Beside him, an equally at-ease Castiel says, “They’re in love.”

Dean snorts. “Yep.” 

“I’m happy for them.”

Dean looks at him. “Me too.”

It’s the perfect segue. The perfect opportunity to speak of his own feelings. To finally say to Castiel what he’s been thinking for over a week. Dean knows it would be _that easy_ to cross the bridge between them and say,

“I’m in love with you too, you know.”

For a moment, he isn’t sure he said it. 

Castiel’s face doesn’t change, his body doesn’t tense or shy away. Then, the grin breaks out. Castiel’s not one to emote excessively, but Dean knows him well enough to read exactly what this smile means, muted as it may seem to someone else. 

“You already know that I’m in love with you, Dean.”

They need to talk about this. To fully clear the air. There are things Dean needs to say, and questions he needs answered, but for tonight he lets this be. He let’s Castiel’s assurance of his heart be enough for him. 

He holds his hand out again. He’s coming to feel whole whenever Castiel takes it, aware of how seamlessly this act has been added to their shared vocabulary, another kind of easy affection. Dean still wants to kiss Castiel, even if he can’t see it. Wants to undress and be undressed by Castiel, even if he can’t imagine it. He still needs to be sure Castiel wants to do these fundamentally human things with him, too. But for now there are hands within hands and words shared out loud, and it’s enough. 

Dean clears his throat. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.” 

Castiel nods. “Yes, it’s getting late.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t sleep,” Dean mutters.

“No, but I’ve found meditating during the evening hours to be quite relaxing.”

“Oh, yeah? Since when?”

“A while now. Since I got my grace back after being human.”

Dean blinks. Castiel had never mentioned this. “Well, shit.” 

They walk back to Dean’s room together. When they get there and Dean pushes the door fully open, he looks back at Castiel to say goodnight, only to find Castiel pushing gently past him and entering himself. 

“Uh, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

Castiel gives him a puzzled look as he sits on the edge of Dean’s bed. “Isn’t it customary for people who love each other to stay the night together?”

Dean is suddenly far too drunk for this. He figures they’ve shared motel rooms before, so it’s really not a big deal. At least, it _can’t_ be a big deal right now because, again, he’s far too drunk for this. 

“Well, I need to sleep this off. So you can...meditate…” he looks around the room. His doesn’t boast any extra seats at the moment. “I guess we can get you a chair.”

“Are you uncomfortable sharing the bed?” asks Castiel. 

Dean’s stomach does a lurch. _Too drunk_. “You want to share the bed with me?”

Dean can see Castiel is getting the sense this isn’t what Dean had in the cards for the night.

Carefully, he says, “I thought I might lay beside you and meditate while you slept. I won’t move around or disturb you.”

“And this is what you _want_ to do?” He needs to be as sure as he can. 

“Yes,” Castiel answers immediately. “But only if you want to as well.”

It’s weird. It’s a weird idea. Dean sleeping while Castiel just...lays there. But Dean figures his life has taken weirder turns than this, so he heaves a sigh and says, “Yeah. Okay.” He takes in Castiel’s outfit. “But, dude, you have to drop some layers.”

“Excuse me?” asks Castiel, already starting to arrange himself on the bed. 

Dean rubs at his temples. “I’m not trying to get fresh, but I’m not letting you into my bed with all those clothes on. At the very least, you have to ditch the trenchcoat and the shoes.”

Castiel looks down at his outfit. Back up at Dean. “I suppose the shoes are a bit much for bedtime.”

At least this earns a chuckle from Dean. “I’m going to brush my teeth, you just get comfortable.” He winces at himself even as he says it. “Be right back.”

Butterflies in his stomach aside, Dean’s happy. He laughs at himself in the mirror, getting nervous about sharing a bed with Castiel like they’re going to do anything other than lay there. He brushes his teeth quickly, splashing water on his face after, and tells himself to buckle up and get over himself. This is _Castiel_ , and it’s going to be fine. 

When he gets back to the room, Dean finds Castiel has stripped down to his undershirt and boxers. He’s kept his socks on, too, and for some reason that’s what Dean catches on. It makes him smile even as it makes his stomach flip to see Castiel so exposed. He’s seen it before over the years, but never in this context. 

“Welcome back,” Castiel says quietly. 

“Thanks,” Dean replies, just as quietly. 

“Are you ready for bed?”

Dean steps to the bed, sitting gingerly beside Castiel. “Very.”

He slips under the covers and is surprised when Castiel follows suit. With them both tucked in, there isn’t anything left to do but turn out the light. 

In the darkness, the intimacy of their situation is emphasized. Dean can hear his own breathing like a freight train in the otherwise silent room, no sound at all coming from Castiel. Still, despite his nerves, Dean feels himself on the edge of sleep. 

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” he asks before the fatigue and alcohol pull him under.

Castiel laughs a little beside him. “I can say I most certainly did not.”

“Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

And Dean sleeps.


	5. the past will rust in peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you like this final chapter. 
> 
> I have also now made this fic a part of a series, as I am working on the follow up. If you'd like to be notified of when the first chapter for that goes up, please subscribe to the series on the whole! thank you for reading!

In the morning, Dean wakes in roughly the same position he started in: on his side, one arm flung over the edge of the bed. He can feel the drool drying on his chin, and he is immediately dying of thirst. He turns onto his back with a groan and rubs at his eyes. His head feels full of cotton. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters into the empty room. 

Only the room is not so empty. 

“Good morning, Dean,” says Castiel. Still in the bed; still next to Dean. 

Dean jumps, almost tumbling out of bed, but he catches himself just before. He forces himself upright, back against the headboard. “Hey, Cas.”

“Did you sleep well?” Castiel looks exactly the same, clearly unmussed by a night of not-sleeping. He’s got a book in his hands only partially read. 

“I think so,” Dean answers. “Just not long enough. Can’t you finish that thing in, like, two seconds flat?” He points to the text.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “But as with meditating, I find value in slowing myself down.” He closes the book and sets it on the nightstand on his side of the bed--and Dean wonders if that’s how it’ll be now; Dean’s side and Cas’--and then adds, “Sam and Eileen are awake. They’ve made coffee, though you might do better starting off with water.”

“Thanks, Castiel, I’m well aware of how hangovers work.”

“Would you like me to bring you some?”

Dean shakes his head. “Time to face the world. What time is it anyway?”

Castiel cocks his head. “My guess is just after 8:00 a.m.”

Dean gets out of bed and digs through his discarded pants for his phone. 8:06 a.m. “Well, I’ll be,” he mumbles. He turns back to Castiel. “Let’s get dressed and head out.” 

An instant later, Castiel is standing before him, fully clothed. Dean stumbles backwards; Castiel’s going to be the death of him. 

“I’m ready,” says Castiel. 

Dean’s still catching his breath. “Okay, well, then I’ll meet you out there. I still need to put pants on. And go pee.”

“I can wait.” He sounds downright cheery. 

“Cas,” Dean says. He’s not mad, but he is hungover, and he doesn’t have a lot of patience for people in his space after such a late night. He tries again. “Listen, I’m not trying to get rid of you, but you have to give me a minute this morning. I feel like shit, and I’m moving slow. So you can come down to my level or give me some room. Your choice.”

Castiel makes his answer known by sitting back down on the bed and grabbing his book. 

Dean quickly disappears to the bathroom, returning a moment later, and pulls out a clean pair of pants and a clean shirt from his drawers. He rolls on some deodorant, puts on a clean pair of socks, and laces up his boots. He finishes the look with one of his usual flannels. He knows he doesn’t have to show up for breakfast fully dressed, not even with Eileen living with them, but it’s for the plans he’s making for _after_ breakfast that he’s getting himself ready for. 

“Okay, I’m good,” he tells Castiel as he straightens his shirt. 

“You look very nice, Dean” Castiel says as he closes his book and puts it back on the nightstand.

“Okay,” Dean says, drawing the word out. “You know, Cas, not that I’m knocking it, but you don’t have to treat me any differently now.”

Castiel’s brows furrow. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Dean sighs. “Shit, Cas, me neither, I guess. Coffee first, and then I was thinking we could go for a drive?”

His face softens. “I’d like that, Dean.”

To their credit, neither Sam nor Eileen give Dean and Castiel a second look as they enter the kitchen together. As Castiel said, there is coffee in the pot, but nothing else. 

“You have to fend for yourself today,” Sam grumbles over his pieces of toast. 

“All good, Sammy,” says Dean. “Winchesters run on coffee.” He pours himself a cup and joins Sam at the table, Castiel right behind. He places a full glass of water beside Dean. 

“You look like you’re going somewhere,” Sam observes. 

“Cas and I are going for a drive this morning.” He throws back the water. 

Sam smiles. “Nice.” 

“Where are you going?” asks Eileen.

“I don’t know,” Dean tells her, wiping at his mouth. “We’ll see where the road takes us.”

She smiles. “Sounds romantic.”

Dean laughs, feeling awkward. “That’s definitely what I’m known for. Romance.”

“You can be very sweet,” chimes in Castiel, and Dean ducks his head to hide his blush. 

He looks back up after getting his face under control. “Okay, enough about me. What are you two getting up to today?”

“Naps,” says Eileen. “Lots of naps.”

“Yeah, I think last night did us both in.”

“Same,” agrees Dean. “But it was fun.”

“That it was,” Eileen says. 

Dean finishes his coffee and nudges Cas’ foot under the table. “Ready to go, Clarence?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, standing from the table and smiling at the nickname. “I’m looking forward to some time on the road.”

“You and me both.” He waves at Sam and Eileen. “Don’t get into too much trouble without me.”

They both offer half-hearted waves back, and then Dean and Castiel take their leave.

  
  
  


It feels good to be in the Impala. Dean keeps the music on low and one hand on the wheel, and he let’s Castiel hold the other. He keeps his eyes on the road instead of on Castiel, and takes whatever turns he feels like. He’s got a full tank of gas and a whole day ahead of him; Dean’s in no hurry. 

Beside him, Castiel looks out the window and absentmindedly runs his thumb in small circles against Dean’s skin. “It’s a beautiful day,” he says. Then, “I assume you wanted some privacy today so we could talk?”

Dean grips the wheel a little tighter. “Yeah.”

Castiel nods. “That’s good. I think talking will be helpful.”

Something about Castiel reasonably agreeing they need to have a conversation makes Dean grind his teeth. Like Castiel might have another bomb to drop once he has the opportunity. 

When Dean finds a spot he thinks is remote and scenic enough, he pulls Baby over and shuts off the engine. 

“So,” he says to the view directly in front of him. 

“So,” Castiel echoes. 

Dean doesn’t know where to start. If he should ask Castiel about his feelings, or try to explain his own. It scares him to explain his own without knowing about Castiel’s first. Because what if Sam was wrong? What if Castiel doesn’t want what Dean wants? Holding hands and platonically sharing a bed is all well and good, but what about the rest? Dean never thought he’d get married or have kids with a human, let alone an angel, but now that he’s not hunting, who knows what Dean may come to want? And, Christ, he hadn’t even gotten around to remembering _that_ little update until that very moment. 

Castiel seems content to sit in silence and wait for Dean to figure out where to begin, a feat that seems increasingly impossible as Dean starts feeling the weight of the day before. 

Dean has to laugh at himself. “I’m over forty years old, and I still don’t know how to talk about this shit.”

“I’m not going to judge you, whatever you have to say,” says Castiel. 

It makes Dean smile. “I know, Cas.” He takes a breath. “Do you know what I meant when I said I was in love with you?” 

Castiel frowns, and Dean gets the faint sense that wasn’t what he was expecting. 

“Dean, you know I’ve been on earth for eleven years now, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And I’ve been human or near-human a time or two over those years?”

Dean sees where this is going. He begins to suspect he’s fucked up. “Yes?”

“I understand I’ve never felt it before, but I do think I have some idea of what people mean when they say they’re in love.” He sounds genuinely irritated. 

Frustrated with himself for starting the conversation on the wrong foot, Dean feels his defenses rise. “I thought you said you weren’t going to judge me?”

Castiel sighs. “I’m not judging how you feel, but I can’t stop myself from becoming upset that you still doubt my feelings for you.”

Dean shifts to look at Castiel. “I didn’t say that.”

Castiel turns to face him better as well. He’s still holding Dean’s hand. “So then let me clarify. You think I don’t know what romantic love looks like or feels like. That I don’t know what you meant when you said that’s how you felt about me. And that when I said _you_ _changed me_ , that _you_ _taught me how to care_ and _how to love_ , and that _I loved you_ , I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“No,” Dean counters. “That’s not it. I know you know what you feel. Of course you do. But your frame of reference for love has got to be different than mine, right? So how do I know we’re talking about the same thing?”

“Why do you assume our frame of reference is so different?” He says it with the same expression he wore when he told Dean all those years ago, _You don’t think you deserve to be saved?_

“Because you’re an _angel_ , man! You weren’t built for this!”

It’s not the way Dean wanted to say it, with his voice raised and tinged with fear. He didn’t want to feel this vulnerable or be so aggressive with Castiel.

Castiel lets go of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Dean chokes out. “I just can’t get this shit out of my head.”

Castiel covers his mouth with his fist. He looks out the window. He says, “I’m not leaving this conversation, but I need a moment to gather myself. I’m going to step out of the car for a while, and then I’ll come back.”

Dean nods, knowing in his gut he’s well and truly fucked up now. He watches Castiel step out of the car and walk a few yards into the field where Dean pulled over. 

He doesn’t know how many minutes Castiel stands stock-still among the wild grasses and flowers. Dean hears himself say, _You weren’t built for this_! on a loop in his head. He wishes he could take back the last hour of his life. 

When Castiel does return, he seems calmer. Dean feels the opposite: much more keyed up.

“Okay,” says Castiel. “Given your long experience with angels and my own choices, experiences, and words about my identity and role as an angel of God over the decade we have known one another, I can see why you may have some reservations or misgivings about what I mean when I discuss my feelings. You’re right that Chuck did not design me to love. But you forget that I _abandoned_ his design when I rebelled. I went ‘off-script,’ so to speak, within a single year of knowing you.” 

He looks at Dean. 

“Dean, do you think I haven’t spent these years with you trying to understand exactly what I feel for you? Do you think I haven’t fretted and doubted and questioned what this need to be with you has meant? And with the very recent revelation that so many of my choices have been dictated by Chuck, suddenly I was given a whole new layer of confusion. Was my love for you just a part of his plot as well?”

Dean doesn’t know how much more of this he can hear without needing some air, himself. He’s so in love with this being before him, it’s almost physically painful to hear him speak so directly about the years of unspoken _something_ between them. 

“But do you remember what Chuck said to me? When we had Amara in the bunker and Jack was getting ready to die?”

Dean shakes his head. So much had been happening in that moment. He’d almost killed Sam; that’s what he remembers the most.

“Well, I remember it perfectly. He said: 

‘Spare me your contempt, Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday. You know what every other version of you did after “gripping him tight and raising him from Perdition?" They did what they were told. But not you. Not the "one off the line with a crack in his chassis.”’ 

“And in that moment, Dean, I immediately understood that everything I felt for you had been an aberration to Chuck. He hadn’t planned it, and he didn’t like it. Because my love for you meant I couldn’t be managed the same way. I was an accident, a mistake, and in that respect at least, Chuck couldn’t control me.

“And I think that’s when I started to realize what my true happiness would be. Because loving you has meant absolute freedom for me. Yes, my life has meaning beyond you--you could kick me out right now and tell me you never want to see me again, and I would find other reasons to be happy--but you are the love of it. And it was a privilege to tell you. A true, sublime joy.” 

Castiel wipes away an errant tear. Dean wipes away his own. 

“Castiel,” he whispers. 

“I’m almost done,” Castiel chuckles. “It hurts me to hear you say I wasn’t built for this, and I understand why you might think that. But, Dean, I need you to understand that this isn’t coming from nowhere. And while you haven’t had access to my internal workings around what you mean to me--because I didn’t understand them myself--I’m trying to open the door to you now.”

“Fuck,” Dean grits out, overwhelmed. He doesn’t know for how long he’s wanted to hear this. _Needed_ to hear this. He doesn’t know how to tell Castiel what it means to hear it from the angel now.

For so many years the possibility of true love has felt out of Dean’s reach. He can still to this day hear Cassie in his head, sadly insisting, “I’m a realist. I don’t think there’s much hope for us, Dean.” He knows the ways the failure of this first love have festered and spread to influence all the ones that came after, how that first true and whole rejection changed the very core of Dean himself. 

And now Castiel is sitting in his car, once again holding Dean’s hand, and he’s _in love_ with Dean and Dean’s _in love_ with him. It’s happening. It’s _really_ happening. 

He swallows. “I’m going to kiss you now. Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, laughing.

Dean bridges the short divide between them immediately, and presses his lips to Castiel’s. The fact that they’re both crying should make this awkward, but it doesn’t. They’ve never felt each other this way before, mouths on mouths, Dean’s hands on Castiel’s cheeks and Castiel’s hands so his arms. And as surreal and inexperienced as this kiss is, it’s the realest kiss that Dean’s ever had, and the best one, too.

But it’s brief--too brief--because Dean can’t stop laughing. Castiel is in love with him, and he’s in love with Castiel. And Chuck is gone, and so are the monsters, and they’re finally going to start living again. 

He’s going to kiss Castiel some more in the Impala, then he’s going to take the angel out for breakfast he won’t eat. And they’re going to back to the bunker, back _home_ , and Dean’s going to look at the endless possibility that has now become his life, and he’s going to start living. With Sam and Eileen and Castiel. 

They’re all going to start living again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so so much for reading. thank you for subscribing. and thank you, I mean BEYOND thank you, for the comments. I really hope you liked this final chapter, and keep your eyes open for the next installment <3

**Author's Note:**

> eta: im on tumblr! @slash—y (2 hyphens) follow me there for fic updates!


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